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When I was 5 years old (or maybe 6) my Mom brought home a piano. It was an electric piano, and it was beautiful. I remember how smooth the keys were, and how it had a number of buttons on the top of it. If you pressed one, the sound of the keys would turn into a ‘harp,’ or ‘voices’ or ‘chimes.’

Mom, with her curly red hair, sat down on the black leather piano bench, and opened a piano book. The notes on the sheets looked strange, and beautiful. And my Mom played a song. It was a nursery rhyme or something. I was fascinated that she knew how to read those notes on that sheet. She was so gorgeous. I think I may have fallen in love with the piano at that moment.

My older sister started piano lessons first. And whatever my sister did, I always wanted to copy, being a younger sister and all. So shortly after, my Mom started me in them too. Our piano teacher’s name was Peggy. A friend from my elementary school also had Peggy as her piano teacher. I remember Peggy speaking about my friend to my Mom and saying, “Leanne. What a beautiful name. I’ve always loved the flow of the name, Leanne.” I remember feeling slightly jealous.

I liked Peggy. She had a soft voice, kind eyes, and blonde hair that was often pinned up. She had porcelain skin and pink cheeks. She only wore dresses or skirts. I think she was rather short, and she was plump, not overly, but just plump. She was perfect.

Other than my little dog Pumpkin losing his mind when she knocked on our door, I always knew she was arriving – I could hear her coming. She wore black heels every lesson. Not super high, but ones that clacked when she walked (I liked the clacking – I wanted to have clacking shoes one day).

At first, piano was pretty easy. Then theory came into play, and I found it challenging. It felt like math, and math was not my thing. But playing the piano, that was fun. Peggy I believe learned music from the Toronto Royal Conservatory. She came to our house to play, and we didn’t have recitals (perhaps that’s why my piano is typically played without an audience, and I’m okay with that).

Years past, and Peggy kept coming, and I kept playing. I’d try to complete my theory homework, and started losing interest, like a lot of kids do with hobbies when they become hard. But what I loved most was how each week you were assigned a new song. She’d come in with her sheet music, and tell me what song I’d be playing next. It was thrilling. I was always excited to get a ‘pop’ song that I recognized. However, what I learned was that the best songs to play were actually the classical songs. I became obsessed with Beethoven’s, “Fur Elise.” It’s the only song I know pieces of by heart (no reading). Eventually, my older sister stopped seeing Peggy. I think piano was the first thing that I actually stuck with on my own – no friends, no sister, just me.

Eventually, I told myself I’d stop seeing Peggy when I felt like I could play any piece of music that was put in front of me. I’m no musical genius, but what I mean by this, is that I wanted to be able to read the music, and be able to practice a song until I was good at it – no help.

Piano lessons were sometimes awkward. Some lessons I played a song and Peggy would know I probably practiced one or two times since the last lesson. But she never said anything. Those sessions, she’d just say, “I think this was a tough one. Why don’t you stick at it for another week.” She was kind. She never made me feel bad about it, and I never felt pressure. Perhaps this is why I stuck with it for so long – it was always about enjoyment and love.

Somewhere around 9 years old, I overheard Peggy tell my Mom that I was natural at playing. This was one of the best memories I had. It’s funny how hearing someone you admire say something positive about you can stick with you for a lifetime. You should have heard Peggy play. She was m-a-g-i-c-a-l. Her hands were very tiny, and her fingers were short and soft. They were delicate. And they gently bounced along the keys and it was simply effortless. Her fingers just knew where to go at precisely the right time.

I don’t remember my last piano lesson with Peggy, but I believe I was in grade 8, so around 14 years old. I don’t even remember saying goodbye to her, and that it would be the last time I ever saw her. Did I block this? How do I not remember. This bothers me.

Around 20 years old, I couldn’t make up my mind if I liked the treble clef or bass clef better. So I had both tattooed on the back of my neck. My musical stamp that I often forget is there because I can’t see it. At 31 years old now, it’s taken me growing up to realize how much I appreciated that teacher of mine. I may not be the best piano player, but I still know how to play and that’s all I ever wanted. And there will always be something special to me about musicians that can tickle the ivories – it deeply moves my soul to hear. Neil Young, Alicia Keys, Ray Charles, Sarah McLachlan, Chris Martin, Billy Joel, John Lennon… Lady Gaga (who knew?).

Sometimes when I’ve spent a long time absent from piano, I get an incredible feeling of homesickness and need to play for a good 2 hours straight. The electric piano my parents let travel with me from home to home. It has lived in 4 different homes with me. A best friend of mine recently asked me if I wanted to have her now past grandmother’s piano – I was floored and grateful. I’ve never owned an acoustic piano and have always wanted one. The touch of the keys are the most different part from playing an electric. I love that it’s old, and has a history, a story. It’s as if I’m keeping it alive. Currently I’m going through house renos and this piano is covered up with blankets to keep safe, and boxes piled around it in an unfinished basement. I can’t wait to free it and embrace the sound. My old electric baby is back at my parents’ place safe and sound. It sits in the same spot as when I played as a teenager. It is back home.

Piano—to me—is something I can rely on. I can play songs for whatever mood I’m in and music will come out just as it should, as if it’s listening to me. I adore the contrast of black and white. The melancholy. The depth. The intensity. It’s an addiction. It’s memory, present and future.

I met my daughter when she was 1 year old. She’s turning 10 in April. Time is such a mystery. Her middle name is Elise. I always knew there was something about that song.

It’s been awhile since my last entry… so this time I’m going to essentially do a diary entry on “LIFE”. Things have been really hectic, but the thing is, in reality, everyone is busy. I think that’s what gets to me sometimes. I feel like there’s not a lot of time to do what I want to do, and when I do find time, I am so tired, I can’t find the energy to “do it” (hence, why my last blog post was so long ago!) Sometimes I feel like people live like robots, and we get stuck in the rat-race. Repetition, repetition, repetition… I miss spontaneity. I do like that my life has become more “structured” in the last three years. I also think that it was something that I needed. Ever since meeting my “fiancé” (wow I’ll never get used to saying that…what am I going to do when it becomes “husband”?), my life as I knew it turned completely upside down.

When I met him I was a starving student that worked nights at a restaurant. I was finishing up my last semester in University, I lived at my parents after moving back home from renting an apartment downtown in Yaletown, and my biggest responsibility was paying my car insurance. As soon as I met my partner my life began to change drastically (in positive ways of course, but a few “growing-up pains” in the mix).

I really felt like I was looking in a mirror when we first met. We both had the same emotions, and we both wanted the same things in the future. He made me laugh, was sarcastic, and didn’t beat around the bush about things. Most importantly, I didn’t feel like he would be dishonest to me, or ever hurt me. He was upfront, told me his life story, and answered any questions I asked (he may be sick of that now… but it’s nice that he loves me no matter what just as I am. I’m lucky). Now, he had a daughter just shy of 2 years old when we met. This was an enormously foreign concept to me. The youngest family member I have is my youngest cousin who is 1 year younger than me. I’ve been the baby in my family, and babies really made me nervous. I always grew up saying, “I don’t want children, and I don’t want to get married.” That’s just the way I felt, but man oh man did that ever crumble. The first time I met his daughter I was so nervous that I was literally shaking. My partner and my relationship moved quite fast because he wanted to make sure that I was “in this and sure about it” before I met his little baby-girl. I sat in his driveway, almost sick to my stomach, and thought to myself, “Whoa. I’m truly “in this””. So with all my courage, I went to the door, and there she was… sitting with him on the couch with her dubby (or was it dummy? A pacifier nevertheless) in her mouth, and she looked at me with these big, blue, gorgeous eyes and curly, blonde locks; she was playing shy at first, as she could probably sense that I was feeling about the same. We chatted for about 15 minutes before it was her bed-time and I watched him pick her up. She looked at me over his shoulder while he was walking away, and she made eye-contact with me and smiled and dropped her dubby out of her mouth and buried her face in his shoulder laughing. “What a little ham…” he said. This was the moment I fell in love with my step-daughter.

Anyway, from then until now, I’ve started my career in marketing (yes, working 7:00 a.m. until 3:30/4:00 p.m. Monday to Friday), bought a townhouse with my dad, sold it, and now bought a house with Jordan, and have become a “other-mother” (the most rewarding achievement of my life). Oh… and I am engaged and getting married in August… yes, there’s that too. I’m going to be a wife… oh dear.

With all of this amazing change, responsibility, dedication, and energy, there has lately been this piece of me that is kicking at my ribcage. Don’t forget about what makes you, YOU. As much as I love my family and my new life, I know that time for yourself is truly important. I know what it feels to lose myself in someone else’s life… I’ve done it before… and it can create utter unhappiness. In order for me to be a good partner, friend to my handful of besties, little sister, youngest daughter, cousin, niece, and co-worker, I can’t forget about what makes me “Tia”. And therefore, I have now focused lately on who I am. I think everyone should take time out for themselves and write down who they are. Whether it’s what makes you happy, sad, angry, excited, and so on, what truly defines you.

Well, here goes…

I like to be different, and I know I can be awkward. I think people shine when they are being themselves. I’m both shy and outgoing at the same time. I cherish my family and friends. I truly believe that all people should be able to get along. I want to be a kind person. I can have a bad temper. I am not patient. I have absolutely learned how to be patient by having a child in my life. I believe in encouragement and praise. I like adrenaline rushes. I think great white sharks are RADICAL. I love to dance, and I don’t care if I’m not very good at it. I have so many allergies, I am quite odd. I need to be physically capable and strong. I have always wanted to challenge men in strength and character. I’m hyper-sensitive and although it can be good, it is my greatest flaw. I care a lot about human beings… sometimes too much for my own good. I’ve been defeated many times, but think giving up is for wimps. I believe in being independent and capable of living on your own. I love naps and need a lot of sleep, though I rarely get it. Sometimes I feel like an outsider. I believe in letting your guard down and allowing people to help you. I want to learn to ride a motorcycle and think Harleys are awesome. If the ocean was my backyard I’d be ever-satisfied. Flying planes is truly unreal. Jumping out of them I want to try. Admitting that you are wrong is strength in character. I am a dreamer. I like freedom. I don’t want to grow up. I like being counted on. Ice cream is amazing. I need to travel before I have a baby of my own. I want a son one day. I wish I were an Olympic rower because I have overly muscular arms that should be put to use. I would do anything to be a published author one day. I believe that if you want something, you can get it. I think that if you think negatively, nothing good will come of your situations.

Well, that’s about it for today. I promise my next post won’t be as far away as the last time.

Oh… and I believe in sticking to your promises, and if you don’t, then come clean and you will be forgiven.

Have a fabulous Friday world! Enjoy the sunshine Vancouver. I’ll be at Deer Lake Park tonight listening to Bon Iver and ecstatic to hear this song: